


Saving Fathers, Finding Home

by onehaleofanadventure



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: I don't want to give anything away, Magic, Time Travel, be warned, happy ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:32:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onehaleofanadventure/pseuds/onehaleofanadventure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, my best friend and I decided Parrish is the love child of certain members of the pack. And then this happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Father's Husband's Son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SociallyAwkwardFox (Maze_Runner_Fae)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maze_Runner_Fae/gifts).



Here I am, standing in my boxers, freezing my ass off—well not literally, with the whole made of fire thing, but that’s not the point—in front of my fathers. Trying to explain how this whole thing happened. My “Papa,” for lack of a better distinguishing term, is staring at my like I grew a second and then third head, and Dad, well, he’s got his arms crossed over his chest and is glaring at me like if he tries hard enough, I might just burst into flames (heh (; ) and this whole situation will be over.

It was supposed to happen like this; actually, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all. No one was supposed to know, no one was supposed to find out. Something about space and time, holes and tears, I didn’t really care when I was told about the risks, I just knew I was going no matter what. 

I should’ve known, though. Everyone knows the stories about the Stilinski kid and his indescribable ability (or desire?) to know and figure everything out. Why should I have been any different?

Perhaps I should start at the beginning, it’ll probably be easier to explain that way.

My name is Jordan Parrish, I was born in a small town in California called Beacon Hills in 2022, and when I was seven, my dads went missing. Knowing them, they’re okay, but that’s the problem, I didn’t really get the chance to know them, so I don’t know how to save them. When I was fifteen, with the help of some friends, magic friends, I got myself sent back in time. 

The one major fault with my plan was that I forgot how touchy magic can be, one little thing, a stray thought, and I ended up eight years early, before they truly met, not eight years before I was born. I guess that shouldn’t surprise me, I was wondering how they met, how they got together: no one could ever tell me exactly how it happened; probably because of the whole werewolf situation and the multiple murders, teen romance hadn’t exactly been the focal point of the town at the time.

Anyway, I showed up in the outskirts of Los Angeles, it was different than I expected, very different from what I remembered. I went in search of map, something to get me home. What I found, well, things never do go as planned. Here I am, in 2006, not 2014, damn. My dads haven’t even gone through the things that made them who they are, hell, Papa is only seven and Dad, twelve. 

Instead of making my way to Beacons Hills, possibly messing up their lives, accidentally changing things that could change the future, I decided to stay here on the edges of LA. 

I found my way to a diner, helped the old woman behind the counter in exchange for food, I’m pretty sure she accepted the proposition more out of pity for me than actually needing help, but at that point, I took what I could get. I spent a few days looking for something to do, some way to survive without getting sucked into the foster system and moved to who knows where. I returned to the small diner each evening, after seeing this each of those days, the elderly woman and her husband—Adelaide and Harold—sat me down, and asked my about my life, what I was doing here all alone.

I told them the truth. Well mostly. I told them my name was Jordan—forgoing my last name— told them that I had two dads, that they disappeared when I was seven, that I wanted to look for them, when I got older of course—it would’ve been hard to explain that I had to wait for them to get older. 

We sat there for hours, them asking questions here and there, me explaining what I could, carefully skirting around questions that would give too much away. After a while, all their questions stopped, and they stared at me with twin indiscernible expressions. There’s a huff, and next thing I know, they’re telling me that I’ll live with them, I’ll go to school, I’ll work at the diner, and when I’m eighteen, I can go off on my “grand adventure to reunite my family, if I still want to.” My answer is a roll of my eyes and pathetic attempt to protest before ultimately agreeing, all of which they expected.

That’s what I did, for the next three years: I went to school, I worked at the diner, I pretended like I belonged in that time; but I tracked the news in Beacon Hills, never let it go far from my mind. When I was eighteen, after I graduated, Harold sat me down, just like last time, and asked me if I was leaving. I didn’t know how to explain that I couldn’t go home, I could find them just yet. So, I told them I was putting it off for a few more years, joining the military, so I could be stable, so I had a back-up plan if I couldn’t find them. 

He didn’t believe me, I could see it in his eyes, he knew I was holding something back. But, he understood, he knew that I felt like I had to go, like I had to do something else for a while. I promised I’d visit someday, thanked them for everything they had done for me, told them how much I cared for them and what they did for me, and left.

I spent the next four year in the military, I was part of a “Hazardous Device Team,” basically, a highly trained, military bomb squad. I figured I might as well help, since the fire wouldn’t kill me like it could someone else. Then, I wanted to stop fighting, stop being so far from home. I retired, and started at the police academy, training to be a detective, originally. 

I felt the Nemeton awaken. Felt it grow strong. Felt it pulling me home.


	2. My Father's Husband's Home

I went. I let myself be pulled home. It was time. 

I know they’ve already met, that much is clear from what the newspapers don’t know about the happenings in town. Maybe they’re already together. I need to find them, I need to learn about them, then, I can save them.

I transferred to the Police Station, the newest Deputy. With everything going on, the town was running out of deputies, running out of civilians, too. Hopefully, I can change that, without messing up my own future in the process.

Sheriff Stilinski. He’s a good man, with a troublesome son. He’s good at his job. It’s nice to meet him. He feels like family I haven’t seen in eight years. But, I don’t have time for that, I shouldn’t be surprised, I’ve kept up with the news: Beacon Hills is as hectic as ever. 

They found Malia, saved her, but she doesn’t know she’s a Hale, yet. The pack is loose, somewhat feeble, but they do not seem to so damaged after everything that happened with the Darach, and her sacrifices, and the Alpha pack. I wish I had been here to meet Erica and Boyd, from what I’ve been told, I would have loved them. Scott is already an Alpha, but it’ll take a while before he learns how to be a good one, I know he can do it, though, I’ve been part of that pack. I miss it, but I’ll be home soon.

Someone is killing people; well, something is killing people. I don’t know what it is, I can’t remember the stories about it from when I was a child, and no one here will tell me, they don’t know who or what I am. It’s playing tricks on the people, leaving clues before it unleashes chaos and destruction, again, and again. 

First, it was small stuff; all the screws missing from the Lacrosse Coach’s desk and some numbers written on the chalkboard in the chemistry room. Then, the Sheriff said something about an electrified bat. Later, we found some electrical equipment on the roof of the hospital, it exposed a wire, Isaac stepped in to save lives, he’s in a coma; I know he wakes up—I remember him teaching me how to curse in French, pretending no one else knew exactly what he was saying—but I’m still worried. Then, there’s a bomb on the bus, I couldn’t let anyone else go up there, so I did it; only, it wasn’t a bomb, it was the Sheriff’s nameplate, from his desk, where there was a package waiting, a real bomb. 

That’s when I figured it out, that’s when I remembered the stories Dad told me, the one Papa couldn’t listen to, bad things happened, and I don’t know how or if I can stop them. It’s a Nogitsune or void kitsune, an evil fox spirit, one that feeds off chaos and destruction, loves to play tricks and give riddles. I really should’ve recognized the signs, I’ve been taught about everything the pack knew about; Dad and Papa had letters and books, everything they would need to teach me to be prepared for whatever life threw at me. 

Also, I really should’ve recognized Kira, she doesn’t look any different than I remember, one of the perks of being a Kitsune, I suppose. Next thing I know, the werewolves left in town are being attacked, like something is checking them off a list. After sneaking a look at the marks left behind, I know it’s the Oni, they’re following Noshiko, Kira’s mom. She’s looking for it, I remember her telling me about summoning it, and trying to stop it because she couldn’t control it. When she finds it, she going to kill him, she’s going to kill Stiles.

I can’t let her find him first. Stiles can’t die, he’s an important part of my past. An important part of the future.

Derek is the only one to notice that Stiles isn’t acting right. Scott and Allison barely seemed phased by their sacrifice, and Stiles hid it so well, but someone should have noticed. He’s being checked into Eichen House, for everyone’s safety, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Something happened there, Stiles is gone, Noshiko isn’t right, but I don’t know exactly what happened. I hate being out of the loop, but I have to keep pretending, who can say what would happen if someone found out.

Derek, Isaac and the twins (Ethan and Aiden) are feral, dangerous, and infected by something from the Nogitsune. But, Deaton has is under control, he’s helping Scott, who is taking Lydia with him into Stiles’ mind to free him from the Nogitsune. Stiles is free now, but so is the Nogitsune, it’s a shadow of Stiles, a perfect copy; splitting them also cured the feral wolves.

Lydia, even more lovely that I remember, she’s going through so much, just learning that she is a Banshee, and having to experience all the death happening to this town. The Nogitsune took her, he’s taunting her, I know the effects that this has on her a decade from now. He’s using her, he doesn’t want to die at the hands of the Oni, he won’t, but he will be stopped. I know how this story ends; I just hope I can save them. 

The Nogitsune used Noshiko’s last tail, and Lydia’s ability to predict death to take over the Oni. I want to help. I want to do more. But I can’t, I can’t fight the Oni, none of us can. The Argents know about the silver, but it’s not enough. Allison is dead, so is Aiden, I tried to help, I just couldn’t. I never knew them, I have always wished I had the chance, but I didn’t. Maybe the future can’t be changed.

Even in his final moments, the Nogitsune tried to cause more chaos, more pain, more destruction. However, Stiles’ saw threw it: after all, you can’t be a fox and a wolf.

It’s over, the Nogitsune is locked away in the jar that used to hold Talia’s claws. No one is happy, too much death. I understand, I feel it, too. I may not know them in my own time, but I knew them here, somewhat, and I feel their lose more than I let on. My only silver-lining is that I know my fathers, I know where home is, now I just have to save them.

It’s the first full moon since the Nogitsune was trapped, I need the power of the Nemeton to return home. I think I was always meant to come here. No one ever knew how the Nemeton was fully drained, they assumed it was the Nogitsune’s escape, but the old stump is still flowing, just barely. And soon, it’ll start growing again.


	3. My Father and His Husband

It was an accident. I should have known better. I should have looked around, figured out where everyone was before trekking through the Preserve.

Apparently, the pack was suspecting something about me. I have to admit, showing up out of nowhere with no explanation of why I came to Beacon Hills could be suspicious. Happening upon all the supernatural scenes, being around the pack far too often for normal deputies, I have to admit, it seemed untrustworthy.

But that’s not really the awkward part. The awkward part is the I didn’t notice until I was mid-prep for my return. Which involves stripping and speaking a strange ancient language atop the stump of the Nemeton. Thankfully, I hadn’t gotten to taking my boxers off, yet, its cold: I was waiting until the last minute to remove them. 

So, of course, while I was distracted by not freezing to death, and preparing all the spices and herbs and whatnot for the spell, that’s when Derek and Stiles walk into the clearing with similar distrustful expressions. 

Stiles and Derek are really all that’s left of the pack now. Jackson left before I came here, but now Isaac and Chris took off, something about France. Boyd and Erica were dead, and now there wasn’t anything to distract from that. Ethan took Aiden’s death hard, and he left town, didn’t say where he was going, just left. Malia did, too, Stiles was her only tether to the pack, and he’s not really in any place to care for her, she took finding out about Peter hard; no one blames her for leaving, we—they just wish she hadn’t. Scott is too preoccupied with mourning Allison and keeping his head firmly planted in Kira’s—that’s inappropriate, my bad. Anyway, with everyone else gone, Lydia going crazy, Peter distrustful as ever, and no one wanting to go to Deaton unless absolutely necessary, well, Derek and Stiles are all that’s left.

“Parrish? I really wouldn’t have suspected you to be the next Big Bad in Beacon Hills. You’ve been here long enough, why now? Were you just waiting for us to be too weak to fight—“

“Stiles.” Derek grunted to end his ramble before he really got going. “Explain yourself.” He huffed at me. 

So that’s how I ended standing in my boxers, on a full moon, freezing and trying to creatively explain around the truth—to not reveal anything too bad, anything that could seriously jeopardize the future. My future. 

“I don’t believe him.” 

Obviously not meant for my ears, but I couldn’t tell them about what I am, they don’t have a name for what I am here, and I don’t remember what they called me when I was little. A spark and a werewolf are a rare mating, and both being male, it took a lot of magic for my conception; and a little help from a female friend. 

“I know you don’t, but he makes a good case, seems pretty knowledgeable for a lie made up on the spot. Also, I know you were listening to his heart beat, was he lying?” 

Derek shook his head, but said “His heart beat is doing something weird, not a lie, but nervous.”

They turned back to me, Derek’s right, I’m nervous, which is the only explanation I have for my embarrassing blurt. “Of course I’m nervous, if I don’t hurry, I can’t go home for another month. Who knows what trouble I could cause everyone’s future by staying longer than necessary.” Red-faced and immeasurable more nervous, I covered my mouth and hoped they let me finish, let me go home. Let me save them, a small voice whispered in the back of my head. 

In the end, it was Stiles who convinced Derek that I wasn’t going to hurt anyone but myself, and to let me continue with my activities. Only under the condition that they watched, so Derek could stop me if he needed to. 

So I did, I finished arranged my herbs, douses everything in the sacred oil, and so on. Then, sucked in a big breath, I gathered my courage and dropped my boxers. Best to get it out of the way quickly, ripping off a band-aid or whatever cliché you prefer. 

At the gasp-huff combo behind me, I quickly dropped down cross-legged on the stump. Immediately getting uncomfortable with the dirt on my bare skin, I started chanting, soft and technical. As instinct took over, I grew louder—more relaxed in my pronunciation—and the moon grew bright, bigger in the night sky.

A blinding flash, a continuous echo of grunts and gasps, then silence, dark and cold. 

It was like waking up from a dream. Only, I was still 23, in the middle of nowhere, the ruins of an old town on the edge of old LA. There wasn’t anyone around, not a sound, save my heavy breathing and rabbitting pulse. Its time to go home. 

It took just a few hours, just long enough for me to plan how this was going to work. I had to avoid the pack, no doubt they’d be furious, its been eight years, I’ve been missing for eight years. So, avoiding the pack; next, getting to the Nemeton, after all the problems it caused, Dad has traps, alarm-systems he liked to call them, so no one approached the tree without his or Papa’s permission. 

Once there, underneath the Nemeton is a small room, it collapsed back in 2014, but the tunnels that lead further down, they didn’t. What most people don’t know about the Nemeton is that it does have a mind of its own, well sort of. Its not a mind per se, but magic that wants to be good, wants to protect, but its too powerful, to available for everyone else’s nefarious purposes. 

The Nemeton protects those who protect it. And after all Stiles and Derek had given to it, for it, with the sacrifices, the power, draining power, defending it from whatever came to town; the Nemeton wouldn’t allow them to be hurt, not if it had any hand in what happened. 

It did. That’s where the hunters took them. 

Getting past the pack was actually easier than expected; apparently, I’ve gotten better at hiding my scent. Either that, or they’ve just forgotten it, and without Dad, no one feels the boundaries. Getting to the Nemeton was trickier, but I know my parents, I can predict their traps. Well, with about 85% accuracy, but the broken arm heals fast enough, and the fire didn’t bother me more than losing half a shirt and one of the legs off my pants. 

The hunters had cleared most of the debris from the room, after they tunneled from one of the old Hale tunnels. That’s how they got there without setting off anything, then they tripped the one closest to the tree, to attract Dad and Papa. 

As I crawled through the small room, I found a rotting plank, covered with dirt. A hole that leads down, with any luck, I’m right, and that’s where my fathers are. 

The passage is a lot longer than I thought it would be, and the pitch black does nothing to calm me. However, once at the bottom, it was all worth it, everything, the last eight years was worth it. 

In a dimly lit orb, just a few feet in front of me sat Derek and Stiles, seemingly unconscious and not a day older than when they disappeared. Not knowing what else to do, I reached out, and it burst, fanning light throughout the small room.

“Parrish?” Stiles asked incredulously. “I haven’t seen you in fifteen years. Naked on the stump of the Nemeton. I thought you had to go back to your own galaxy or something.”

“Time.” Dad sighed. “He said he was from the future, not another planet.”

“God, I missed you guys so much.” I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. “Sixteen years is a long time for someone to be without their dads.” I tried, and spectacularly failed, to alleviate the tense confusion with sarcasm. Like father, like son.

They both gasped and gaped at me. I fidgeted, its weird being back with them and not knowing what to do, for me, it was yesterday that I saw them as children.

“Jor-Jordan?” Derek whispered, while Papa continued to stare, mouth open. 

“Hi, Dad. Hi, Papa. Its really nice to have you back, I’ve—we’ve missed you so much.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Eight years, Jordan. You’ve been gone eight years!” Lydia huffed, torn between anger and joy.

“I know. I had to find them. I had to have my dads back.” I sighed, softly whispering: “I couldn’t be without them any longer.”

Deaton cleared his throat. “Time-travel is only possible with the strongest of witches. It comes with many side-effects.”

“That’s what I’m here for, everyone deserves a second chance.” The stranger smirked, eerily reminiscent of Jackson, despite looking shockingly angelic, similar to Isaac. 

Another flash of light, brighter than the last, accompanied by a high-pitched screeching. Then everything was silent, everything was dark. 

Despite a killer headache, and an uncontrollable fire running through my body—oddly reminiscent of being a child and unable to control my powers—everything seemed normal. Finally, after a lengthy self-pep-talk, I opened my eyes.

Dad and Papa burst through the door, only to find me staring dumbfounded at my reflection in the mirror. Seven years old. I turned and hugged my fathers as tightly as I could, and they shushed and comforted my through the tears that silently ran down my face.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We got our second chance to be a real family. And so can you. There is no risk too great to save your family, to find home.” I closed the book, and laid it down on the end-table with a soft thud, so as not to wake anyone, and softly kissed the foreheads of my twins babies before quietly slipping out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I miss tagged anything or you feel I need to add any tags, tell me and I'll be happy too.


End file.
